


Learning the Ropes

by ClothesBeam



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: M/M, Slow Burn Romance, that may or may not get finished one day
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2018-09-10 21:44:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8940565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClothesBeam/pseuds/ClothesBeam
Summary: Drift winds up in Ratchet's Dead End clinic, but instead of being told to go get a non-existent job, the medic gives him one.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Harutemu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harutemu/gifts).



> Don't read this unless you're all right with the possibility that it'll never be finished! I've started self-publishing original work, so I just don't have the same amount of time or 'writing energy' to spend on fanfics these days.
> 
> Thank you Harutemu for reblogging my crap and inspiring me to pick this story up again <3

Drift woke cautiously. He was indoors, but it was too quiet for him to be in his current squat. There was nothing but the hum of machinery to bother him. He couldn’t feel anyone watching him, but he made flexing his hand a subtle movement. The increased discomfort further up his arm made him very aware of the IV line feeding fuel directly into him.

His optics snapped online, but he was only more confused by what he saw. The room was dark, and he was cordoned off from most of it by a curtain. The room would be bright and sterile if he were in a real hospital. He’d never be able to afford to pay whoever was helping him.

It was a grind to get his processor to recall what he’d done to need such intensive care in the first place. A bad trip? No, it had to be more than that. He vaguely remembered some shadowy figures beating on him once he’d gotten to the point of no return. But then, how had he ended up here?

He glanced around again and noticed there was a sign next to a button on the wall. He couldn’t read, and unfortunately there were no pictures to give him any clues. Maybe it would call a nurse and he could figure out what the hell was going on?

Though it’d probably be safer, and cheaper, to try and sneak out in the middle of the night…

He jumped when the curtain suddenly slid aside. A sturdy medic sidled along the small gap between berths, turning on a scanner. “Good to see you’re finally awake. Are you in any pain?”

He shook his head, no. “Where am I?”

“Hah,” he muttered, fiddling with the IV bag. “I’m sure you’ve heard of the clinic that’s free if you can put up with the grump who runs the place.”

Drift rolled his optics. Did the medic think he’d been constructed yesterday? “As if anyone actually believes anything down here is free.”

“Believe what you want. The only payment I hope for is that you don’t do something dumb enough to end up like this again.”

Drift was surprised by the bluntness of the obviously upper-class bot, but remained silent.

“Looks like I’ve finally managed to flush all the Syk out of your system. I almost lost you last night, so you should take it easy for now,” he added as he looked over the results of his scan. “If you start feeling any pain or otherwise unwell, use the call button. It’s only me here, but I’ll try to get to you as soon as I can.”

Drift finally spoke up again as he turned to leave. “You should use pictures, on the sign,” he elaborated when the medic looked confused. “Some people can’t read.”

He frowned and nodded. “I hadn’t even thought of that. Thanks.”

Maybe there was a way Drift could make himself useful around here…

* * *

 

Drift felt significantly better in the morning, and was even able to sit up and start fuelling himself again. He watched the doctor tiredly fill out some paperwork as he released one of his patients. True to his word, there was no exchange of currency involved. No shanix, energon or even ‘face.

It boggled his mind, and he wondered how the medic even bought his own fuel, let alone all the supplies he must go through down here. As the flight frame being released made his way out the door, Drift staggered over to him as nonchalantly as possible.

The medic was answering his pager before he even got there. “CMO Ratchet, go ahead,” he said unenthusiastically.

CMO? Wasn’t that military jargon for the big doctor in charge of everything? What was someone so important doing down here?

“Yes, I understand, but when is the Prime getting here? Right, in _two weeks_. So I’ll be back to make preparations in thirteen days. What, you think _I_ need longer than that? Are you questioning my judgement? That’s what I thought. I’m sure you can handle it.” The pager clicked as he shut down the messaging function. Ratchet turned to him without missing a beat and added, “Go sit down, kid.”

“I still don’t get it,” he said, ignoring the implication that he should get back to the slab and sitting on his desk instead. “What do you get out of this?”

“The warm and fuzzies,” he snapped, tugging at the datapad with one of its corners stuck under the speedster’s aft. “And when I said sit, I didn’t mean on my work.”

“What happens to this place when you have to go see the brass?”

Ratchet’s face darkened. “I either shut it down or get robbed blind. But you should have recovered well before I have to do that again.”

“Well, I’m no doctor, but I could watch your stuff,” Drift suggested lightly. He knew how to defend himself, and guaranteed access to shelter and fuel would make the stress of protecting a target worth it.

“Oh really?” Ratchet muttered, not really paying attention now that he had his nose in the datapad he’d freed. “Why don’t you just explain to everyone that nicking off with medical supplies means there won’t be any medical help available?”

Drift just shrugged. He hadn’t really expected to be trusted at face value, but it was still disappointing. “Bad things still happen even when you can’t be here. What are they supposed to do, hope they don’t bleed out before you get back?”

The doctor sighed and rubbed the back of his helm. There was a little grief behind his gruff exterior. “Well, I can’t be here all the time,” he muttered.

“What’s stopping you?” Drift asked, honestly curious. He guessed he needed to work some of the time to afford his equipment, but if he traded his skills for favours he could probably build an ecosystem where those he fixed replaced the materials he’d used to do so through gifts…

Ratchet looked a mixture of guilty and angry now, and seemed to be struggling to find something to say. Before he could do much more than open his mouth, the front door to the clinic swung open again. Another mech with red and white medic crosses entered. He wore a look of long suffering disgust, and his wings drew in close as he walked further into the cramped environment.

“I knew I’d find you down here,” the mech scolded in a posh accent. He barely gave Drift a glance as he continued speaking to Ratchet. “We need you to come into the hospital for a few hours to make sure everything is going as required. Your personal approval will give the Prime’s PA a little peace of mind, at the very least.”

“Pharma, _why_ do things need a check-up when the visit is still two weeks out? What is there to prepare, a bouquet of rare metals to express our sympathies and an energon candy for being good?” Ratchet snapped.

Drift was shocked that anyone would talk about the Prime like that, but he still found himself trying not to laugh anyway. It _was_ pretty ridiculous that they had all these preparations to make when it didn’t even sound like there was anything wrong with the mech. It was a stark contrast with the state of things around him.

“I know, I know,” Pharma replied, holding up his hands in a placating manner. “But the procedure there, and if expectations aren’t met then other people in the chain are going to suffer.” He gave Drift a sideways glance as though he was wondering why he was still there and listening.

Drift ignored him. The information sounded promising, and Ratchet wasn’t asking him to leave. He might be able use it to negotiate some sort of employment later down the line.

Ratchet rolled his optics. “Well, how are the preparations then?”

“They’re going smoothly and we’re well ahead of schedule. All you need to do is take a look around and sign some paperwork, then you can come back down here and do,” he paused here and looked Drift up and down, “ _whatever_ it is you have been wasting your time on lately.”

“There’s no need for that,” Ratchet said firmly, though it wasn’t the tone Drift would use. “Anyway, do you have this paperwork on you?”

“Of course,” Pharma replied, and produced the datapad with a flourish.

Ratchet took it from him and looked it over before signing the bottom of the last page. “I trust the head doctor of the hospital to know what he’s talking about,” he said slowly as he wrote a note beneath what Drift assumed was his name. “There we go.”

“It’s not how things are supposed to be done,” Pharma complained, but he still tucked the datapad away again as though he was done with the matter for now. Drift guessed he’d been pleased by Ratchet’s compliment. “At least promise me that you’ll come in tomorrow. And make sure you actually remember to show up on the big day,” he teased.

Ratchet rolled his optics but smiled gently. Drift didn’t like that he was looking at this Pharma like that, but it was probably because the mech in question was being such an exhaust port to him. He dismissed the thought when their conversation continued.

“All right, fine, but it’s literally only going to be for ten minutes,” Ratchet warned.

“Good. If it will motivate you, I have a gift to give you,” he added. He gave Drift one last wary look before he started making his way back over to the clinic entrance.

Ratchet looked as confused by the statement as Drift and simply waved goodbye. The door swung shut behind the jet, and Ratchet immediately turned back to his work.

“Who was that?” Drift asked.

“The head doctor of the hospital I’m stationed at right now,” he divulged absently.

Drift shifted and glanced down at the seemingly endless lines of tiny characters on the small screen. He had no idea what Ratchet was doing on the datapad, but he wasn’t sure if he could make it back across the room just yet.

“I don’t like him.”

“That’s all right, he doesn’t seem to particularly like you, either,” Ratchet muttered as he started typing numbers into a table. Drift could understand those, at least, though he didn’t know what they were for.

“Seems like you’ll have to leave this place for a while tomorrow,” Drift added, pretending to be casual about bringing it up.

“You’ll be fine by morning if you just get some rest.”

“I mean, don’t you want someone to watch the place while you’re away? You can trust me, I’m not going to steal from you after you just saved my life,” Drift implored.

Ratchet looked thoughtful, and seemed to be weighing up his options. “Well, I was going to tell you to go get a job anyway. I guess I can never get enough help around here, but you’re not really trained for a job like this. But, something tells me it might be worth my while.”

As backhanded as it was, Drift couldn’t remember the last time someone had said something so flattering to him. He smiled widely.

“I’ll make sure it is.”


	2. Chapter 2

Drift woke again on the slab that had almost become familiar already. He sat up slowly and looked around. The first thing he noticed was the half-full cube of energon sitting on the small bedside table. Once he’d snatched it up and took as many sips as he could without purging it straight away, he noticed the sign next to the call button had changed. It now had a picture of a medic cross, and under that a crude depiction of a finger pushing a round button.

Drift felt the corner of his mouth quirk and checked his chrono. It was still very early, as evidenced by the lack of daylight coming into the clinic.

Drift slid off the berth and peeked between the curtains into the rest of the cramped room. He saw Ratchet was back at his desk again, and had to wonder if he’d ever left it. Rather more dignified than yesterday, he moved over to the medic, who seemed to be packing a bag.

“You’re up early,” Drift said quietly.

“Yeah, there was an accident on the freeway that involved a few ministers. I’ve got a direct order from the Prime to conduct one of the surgeries, so I’m going to have to leave, oh, five minutes ago,” Ratchet answered hastily as he shoved the bundle of materials in his subspace. “Things like this happen a lot, so you’d better get used to it if you’re serious about working for me.”

“Are you sure the guy who turned up last night is going to make it without your help?” Drift asked, concerned now. Ratchet couldn’t just _leave_ them like this.

A pained expression came over his face. “No, I’m not sure. But if I don’t prioritise ministers, especially under direct order, they’ll say this place is distracting me from my real duties and I’ll be forced to close it up altogether.”

Drift’s spark got the tight feeling it usually did when he was both scared and angry. He’d felt something like this right before he’d lost it after processing what had happened to Gasket. Drift had been lucky this time, in a way. If he’d taken the Syk today instead of a couple days ago, he’d have been offline before he’d made it out of the gutter.

It just wasn’t right.

“When are you going to be back? Is there anything I can do to increase his chances?”

“I was hoping I’d get to train you in basic first aid before anything like this happened. But, he’s not in immediate danger, otherwise I’d have operated on him instead of getting my beauty sleep. You just need to watch his fuel levels and spark activity.” Ratchet dug around in one of his desk drawers and then held out a communicator to Drift. “If I’m not back by midmorning and he’s going downhill, call me on this.”

Drift stared at the small device. Then he stared over at the device that was showing a reading of the mech’s vitals. Ratchet may as well have asked him to translate an alien language.

Ratchet sighed, frustrated, and Drift’s posture drew inward as he tried to make himself appear smaller. He couldn’t afford to mess this up, not like this, not on his first day. But Ratchet’s anger didn’t seem to be directed at him, exactly.

“Come on, I’ve got about sixty seconds to give you a crash course on the equipment.” Drift hurried to keep up, clutching the small device in his hand. “This is spark activity,” Ratchet said, pointing at one of the numbers on the machine’s display. “It’s within normal range now. If it’s slower than thirty or faster than ninety, I need to know immediately.”

Drift tried to memorise thirty and ninety, even as Ratchet took hold of his wrist so he could show him the communicator. Drift’s own spark activity sped up at the contact, and he was sure it wasn’t just because of the pressure he was suddenly under.

“Press this button to turn it on,” he began, pushing Drift’s thumb against the button on the side. The screen lit up but was filled with text he couldn’t read. “These devices are already on speed dial to each other, so all you have to do is press the green button twice, ok?”

Drift nodded and did so, expecting Ratchet would move his fingers like a simpleton if he hesitated again. Ratchet gave a small smile when his own device began to buzz from where it was magnetised to his hip structure. He reached down and pressed the power button to hang up the call.

“Yes, good, now we know it works. Have you got all that?”

“Tell you if that’s lower than thirty or higher than ninety,” Drift said quickly, pointing out the number on the screen. Fortunately it had a lightning bolt next to it to him to help him remember what it was for. “Press the side button then green twice to call you.”

Ratchet smiled again and patted his shoulder. “You’ve got it kid. I’ll be back when I can. Like I say, I doubt things will get that bad, but if worse comes to worst, don’t beat yourself up about it. I’ll… I’ll deal with it when I get back,” Ratchet murmured.

Part of Drift wanted to balk at the responsibility, but most of him swelled with purpose and pride. “Ok, good luck with the surgery, then,” he replied quietly.

Ratchet nodded once and headed for the door again. Drift felt something akin to disappointment when Ratchet’s hand left him.

* * *

 

Ratchet made his usual disgruntled entrance into an operating theatre he didn’t really need to be in. His sour moods had yet to stop them from demanding his presence at the slightest problem, but he had to keep up appearances. Though that probably wasn’t what Pharma meant whenever he threw that phrase at him.

He’d read the briefing while disinfecting his hands and lowering his air cycles to only what was essential to avoid cross-contamination. Fortunately the patient had opted to be unconscious for the operation. Ratchet’s bedside manner was definitely living up to its terrible reputation today.

Ratchet worked as fast as he could without being careless. His nurse had given up on trying to predict what he wanted and simply wrung his hands as he waited for instructions. But Ratchet had everything set up beside him as he liked it, and most of what he needed was built into his arms already. He’d become good at working alone, and preferred it that way.

He took a few moments to check his work before nodding, satisfied, before letting the nurse help with the clean-up and getting the patient set up to go back online. Ratchet tried to leave the hospital and return to his clinic as soon as he was done, but things were never that simple. He checked his phone to see he hadn’t missed any calls or messages before pausing to see what Pharma wanted.

“So, are you actually going to come check the state of the hospital now?” Pharma asked.

Ratchet made a show of looking around the room before turning back to him. “Seems fine to me.”

“Why are you even more of a hurry than usual to get out of here? That little racer stealing your attention?” It seemed this was what he actually wanted to talk about.

“I’ve got a patient that could turn critical if I don’t do something about them now. If I’m done here, I’d rather not lose someone because I was dawdling.”

It seemed Pharma was going to back down at this explanation, for now at least. “All right, I understand. There is something personal I need to discuss with you in private, though. If neither of us are dealing with another crisis by then, won’t you come to my place tomorrow night?”

Ratchet tried to work out what he might want to talk about so desperately. Pharma didn’t let others into his home that often, but he knew by now that Ratchet preferred visiting people to going out these days. Pharma was hardly the most considerate mech in the universe, so if he was making such an effort now, it must be something significant.

“I’ll see what I can do.” Taking a wild guess, he tried to address what it could be at least a little, in the meantime. “You’re doing a good job as head doctor. I know it seems like I’m trying to shirk my responsibilities with the inspection, but it’s only because I trust you have what it takes to keep everything under control.”

Pharma seemed taken aback by his words. “I…”

But Ratchet’s phone suddenly ringing cut him off. He answered as soon as he saw it was Drift. “What is it?” he asked hurriedly.

“Um, it’s past midday. The patient’s spark activity has dropped to 35 three times in the past half an hour, thought I should let you know just in case.”

“Don’t worry, I’m on my way back now. Good call letting me know, just sit tight.” He hung up and looked back at Pharma, even as he made his way to the door so he could transform and take off. Pharma followed him to the entrance, brow drawn again now. “The patient’s vitals are starting to drop. Until tomorrow, right?”

Pharma nodded. “Don’t forget.”

* * *

 

Drift’s knee bounced restlessly while he waited for Ratchet to return. If he knew what to do if the patient’s vitals dropped further, he wouldn’t be afraid to get his hands dirty. But just having to sit around and hope someone else would show up in time was making him anxious.

The task was more stressful than he’d thought it would be. At least he hadn’t had to contend with any other patients arriving, or anyone trying to come in just to steal something yet. But he guessed he’d have to learn to deal with all of that at the same time if he was going to make himself useful. The last thing he wanted was Ratchet regretting bringing him on board.

When the front door was flung open, Drift’s hands automatically formed fists as he turned around. As he crossed the room Ratchet grabbed a trolley that had a tray on top with some tools that seemed to be laid out in a very specific way. “Remind me to show you how to prepare one of these,” Ratchet said absently as he tapped the screen of the machine that was monitoring their patient to get more data out of it. “Have you had lunch yet?”

“Um, no, I didn’t know which energon I could take.” What he really meant was he didn’t know how much he was allowed to have, but something told Drift wording it that way would open up a new line of questioning that he didn’t really want to deal with right now.

Ratchet frowned at the strange explanation, but his sharp mind was already fully focussed on the operation he was preparing for. “As long as it’s not the medical grades you can have whatever you want,” he said absently. “Pretty sure there’s only mid-grade in there anyway. Let me know when we’re running low on it, I’ll have to order it more frequently now I guess,” he added.

Drift remained silent so Ratchet could focus on the procedure. He was working much too fast for him to ever have a hope of understanding what he was doing. Besides, it seemed he’d discovered his own talent recently, and it was quite the opposite of what Ratchet was doing now.

That might not necessarily be a bad thing. The Dead End was hardly filled with angels, and it seemed Ratchet could be absentminded at times. Most people weren’t stupid enough to hurt one of the few medics that could be trusted to fix them up, and for free, too. But someone on Syk couldn’t exactly be relied on to make rational decisions.

Drift jumped when a hand suddenly waved in front of his face. “Still in there?” Ratchet asked, though he sound amused rather than annoyed. “You should fuel and get some rest while you can. The berth up in the spare room should be more comfortable than the medical ones down here. Let me show you the facilities properly now we have the chance. We should probably make a formal plan for your training, too.”

Drift stood quickly, embarrassed that he’d been caught spacing out. It helped pass the time when he had literally nothing else to do, at least until he couldn’t bear the company of his own thoughts anymore. But he felt he’d be getting more than adequate mental stimulation in his day to day life from now on.

“Ok,” he agreed readily.


End file.
